


Fingers Pressed Into the Black Wool

by colisahotnorthernmess



Category: Strictly Come Dancing RPF
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, Awkward Romance, Complicated Relationships, Established Relationship, M/M, Public Sex, Rough Sex, Talking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-05
Updated: 2019-10-05
Packaged: 2020-11-23 09:35:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,502
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20889947
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/colisahotnorthernmess/pseuds/colisahotnorthernmess
Summary: As well as being friends of course, the pair occasionally meet up for a 'good time' after filming or whenever they feel like it. But their relationship could never be described as conventional, and Bruno isn't sure how he's starting to feel about it."Wait," Tonioli cried, outstretching his free hand and grabbing Craig's arm; the younger man looked back as if to ask him what he was doing. "Please... Stay for a while," he asked, "Please do not go so soon. You know that I am very fond of you, Craig."





	Fingers Pressed Into the Black Wool

**Author's Note:**

> Please note that this is a work of fiction involving real people written by myself - it is a completely made-up fantasy and is in no way intended to cause offence.

It wasn't the first time; it probably wouldn't be the last time, though Craig always tried to convince himself that it would be. But everyone had their needs, didn't they? And how was he supposed to concentrate when his urges were at their strongest and Bruno was so ridiculously _available? _It was the dancing debrief of the results show section, which was filmed on the same night as the main show itself, and he'd felt a curious hand stray onto his knee, ticklish fingers brushing the taut fabric across his thigh, accompanied with that _look_; Tonoili coquettishly fluttering his eyelashes, his hand splayed across this own chest, the older man catching his breath following a spell of incessant talking.

Craig called all the shots; Craig was the one who said where and when, and Bruno just said _yes_. A nearby gents toilets with a bit of a _reputation_ was suggested, near to the studios, and it became their go-to place. Neither of the pair were strangers to such practice, something which embarrassed Revel-Horwood hugely, but Tonoili simply saw it as an inevitable part of a homosexual lifestyle - he never felt ashamed of what he was - an out and proud, extroverted gay man with a large sexual appetite. Not before long, Bruno's hands were pressed to the cold porcelain cistern, as he leaned over, himself now also _debriefed_ \- as it were.

The Australian was soon inside of him, moving rhythmically, pounding slippery strokes, his large lubricated cock hard, erect and filling every inch of his partner, and this was what the other man loved - Bruno loved this feeling of being filled, _completed_; he tried to stifle his moans, because he knew that Craig liked their sex to be somewhat muted when conducted in public, but he couldn't help the odd 'fuck' and 'oh, Craig' from falling from his lips. And Revel-Horwood could not stop himself from become increasingly harder at the sound of it - that, along with the noise of the greasy, slick, repetitive blows.

It was hungry, fast and unforgiving, and it was seldom anything _other_ between them. They sometimes kissed each other, but - more often than not - too much champagne was involved when it came to reaching that level of inhibition. Their kisses were angry, harsh, _sloppy_; they were like birds pecking and biting at one another, with sharp, staccato turns of the head, as if they were doing the _tango_ \- a dance of sorts - a mating dance of two peacock-like creatures, dressed in black suits. Craig considered the irony of this as he reached ever-closer to his climax, his hand clenched in a sweat-sodden shirt, moving up to clutch at Bruno's equally damp hair.

The two men emerged from the underground toilet facilities, marching up the stairs practically in unison, from pitch blackness from to the world outside, which was almost as equally dark - dimly lit by the odd street light and distant bursts of coloured brightness in the background from bars and restaurants lining a nearby main road; Craig shrugged on his coat - Bruno stopped and lit up a cigarette, but Craig carried on walking - carried on walking in the direction he knew Bruno would _not_ be heading.

"Wait," Tonioli cried, outstretching his free hand and grabbing Craig's arm; the younger man looked back as if to ask him what he was doing. "Please... Stay for a while," he asked, "Please do not go so soon. You know that I am very fond of you, Craig."

Revel-Horwood read between the lines: "Sweetheart... It would never work between us - you know it and I know it," he stole the other man's cigarette for a brief moment and took a drag from it before handing it back to him, causing an interruption in his own lecture. "You'd drive me absolutely bonkers," and the emphasis he put on the word 'bonkers' was so typically Craig, "I can barely put up with you on the show, with the way you literally _fling _yourself about, darling." He watched the smoke spiral upwards and off into the air. "And besides," he breathed in, flicked his head upwards, showing the slightest signs of jealousy, "Haven't you got some young stallion to be entertaining? Half a dozen barely legal twinks to choose from."

"They... They aren't like you, Craig," came a subdued reply, "None of them are."

"Of course they're bloody not - they're still in nappies for a start, half of them."

"It's _this_ kind of thing..." Bruno started, loudly, gesticulating - and Craig glowered at him, thinking he was about to kick off, but that was not how this conversation was going to go - much to his surprise, "... that I long for, deep down, if I'm honest." He received an inquisitive stare. "The young boys are so eager to please - and, _boy_, are they eager--" he burst into a little laughter at that moment, "But, _ah_, there is no resistance - no challenge - no _back and forth_ \- you know," he told Craig, "They are queueing at the door for me - they are looking for any way they can to get into the the world of dancing - to be recognised - and they'll do _anything_, say _anything_ \- yes Sir, three bags full, Bruno. You aren't afraid to call me an _attention seeking prick_. And you don't care if I'm even offended by it."

"Well, everyone has their misdemeanours, darling. Take my taste in men, for example," he rolled his eyes. He'd considered adding, "Present company excluded," but he chose not to, knowing that - cruelly - it would come across as more insulting if he didn't, but Tonoili didn't rise to it; instead, he continued to shower Revel-Horwood with a strange sort of praise. 

"You call me out on _all_ of my flaws. And yet you still want to see me time and again."

"Don't flatter yourself," was all that Craig could find to say. He had so much that he'd _wanted_ to say, initially, but - for once - the acid-tongued judge was rendered almost speechless. Bruno was many things - he was over-the-top, flamboyant, crazy and quite often shallow, _vain_, with his fake tan, botox, photos of himself by the pool in his speedos, trying to feel young, trying to _be_ young, with strings of twenty-something male dancers to keep him company, _always_, with a lifestyle which screamed 'look at me - I'm rich and famous and I can do what I want - oh, and by the way, I'm the best at everything' - Bruno was many things, but deep and self-deprecating usually didn't make the list. And, no, Craig truly didn't want to say to that - it was a _first_. Stunned, he uttered, "I'll... I'll be seeing you, dear. Next Saturday." He turned to make his exit.

"Don't go," Bruno pleaded, stubbing his cigarette out on the pavement and catching him up. "Let's go to lunch tomorrow - I want to see you, Craig," he wrapped an arm around his, again, fingers pressed into the black wool. "I promise that I'll behave. I'll be quiet and..." he exhaled, slowly, "..._civilised_."

"What's got into you all of a sudden?" Revel-Horwood demanded, almost pulling back his arm.

"I'm... uh... not sure I can really explain. Something has 'appened. An epiphany, if you like," Tonioli clearly didn't want to give too much away. "It's difficult for me to put it into words."

"Oh_ Lord_, you haven't gotten _God_, have you?"

"No... it's not like that. It's just that... I think... Maybe, at 63, it is time to actually grow up. _Settle down_... you know."

Craig's eyes widened, slowly, in realisation - one notch from the shock of Bruno perhaps realising his true age for once; another notch when he realised the implication behind his confession - that Bruno might be interested in settling down... settling down with _him_.

"And I think... maybe... that I need someone like you in my life; someone who isn't afraid to tell me when I'm acting out of line--"

"--Yes, Bruno. _Yes_," he cut him off, curtly.

_"What?"_ the Italian queried, timidly.

"To lunch," Craig clarified as he finally began to walk away from him, his coat swinging from side-to-side as he marched off into the distance, now heading for home. "Text me with the details of where and when," he called back to Bruno, not daring to glance behind him - not really daring to _acknowledge_ what was currently happening. For, he and Bruno had gone to lunch many times and this was nothing new for either of them. However, they both knew - _this _ time - that it was the first time they could really have called it a _date._ And furthermore, _this_ time, Revel-Horwood was letting _Tonoili_ call all the shots.

Bruno looked up to the sky, large brown discs for eyes, gazing at the moon and the stars, and the glowing, puthering end of yet another cigarette he had started to light, and puffed away on the tiny white tobacco-flavoured stick, mildly shellshocked by the outcome. He hadn't expected this. He would have to see how it _went_, he supposed. And that was that.


End file.
